


Midwinter's Luck

by werekitten



Category: Tortall - Pierce
Genre: Midwinter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werekitten/pseuds/werekitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lerant of Eldorne isn't having the cheeriest Midwinter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midwinter's Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girl_called_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_called_sun/gifts).



_Midwinter. The most miserable time of the year._

Lerant of Eldorne pulled his fur-lined jerkin tighter as he tromped through the snow. He glowered down at the freezing mush, looking as though the scowl that creased his brow intended to stay there for a very long time.

For a man just two days returned from the Scanran frontier, there was little to do on the eve of the first night of Midwinter but feast with friends and toast in celebration of the comforts in Corus. For a man with few friends, there was nothing to do but get stone drunk and find a wench.

And so Lerant found himself amongst the few lonely souls trudging through the near-deserted streets of Corus. Occasionally a group of rough men would saunter by singing bawdily or a young couple caught up in holiday cheer would skip along giggling madly. But with a dagger at his belt and, better still, the look of a soldier on his face, Lerant easily evaded all passers-by.

He turned into a narrow alleyway and headed to a door in the wall. Despite the winter-proof rags stuffed in the crevices, the door still let the cheery chattering of men and ale spill out into the street. Lerant slipped into the alehouse quietly, hoping desperately to grab a seat at the bar and get good and drunk before he had to start a conversation. If the gods were good, he would not run into anyone he knew.

No such luck.

_Of course, why should I get to enjoy my Midwinter's eve?_ Lerant sighed and reluctantly made his way through the crowded, fire-lit room to join Domitan of Masbolle and his crew.

"… and then our lady knight kneed him where no man wants to be kneed, and it was all over!" A hearty round of guffaws accompanied the end of Fulcher's tale. Lerant noticed that Dom merely grinned and leaned back in his chair, but chose not to comment.

Instead, he drawled, "And that, friends, is further proof of why a lady in armor is superior to all of us mere men."

Dom turned at the sound of his voice and gave Lerant an easy grin. "Lerant! Sit with us, down a tankard, and smile a bit! It's the eve of Midwinter!"

"Don't mind if I do." He dragged a chair from a nearby table and waved over the nearest barmaid. She was a short, busty girl with sparkling green eyes and enough thick, brown hair tumbling over her shoulders to hide the exceedingly low cut of her dress.

"A drink for m'lord?" she quipped cheerily.

"A tankard of whatever you've got, little lady."

She giggled coyly at him. "I'm surely not a lady, m'lord."

"True enough – you're better. I've never known a lady to serve a man ale."

She giggled again, eyes smiling beneath long and curly lashes. "I'll be right back, m'lord."

Wolset gave Lerant a sideways grin. "Someone's bed needn't be chilly tonight."

"A drink to Lerant, the lady's man!" Fulcher used the excuse to down the rest of his tankard in one gulp.

Even Lofren, the uptight magister's son, was starting to look quite tipsy. "There's a song for that!" He pushed up from the table, knocking his chair over in the process, and began to sing.

_"There once was a man  
who was known through the land  
'cause he offered his hand  
to the ladies!"_

The rest of the table joined in.

_"So kind and polite,  
there never was a sight  
that caused such delight  
to the ladies!"_

Lerant suppressed a groan. _I need my ale before I can deal with this!_ As if she had read his thoughts, the tavern wench bustled over with an extremely large tankard.

"Thank Mithros!" He took a large gulp, wincing at the course taste, and eyed the girl. Not bad. "I mean, my thanks go to you, lady!" .

She giggled yet again. "Just my job, m'lord." She turned and went to attend to another table.

Lerant looked around the table. Dom was the only man who was not singing inanities about an overly courteous man. He met the sergeant's eye. "Not your favorite song?"

"Just imagining Kel meeting this lady's man is enough to make it lose its appeal." His eyes sparkled at the thought. "Not that the picture is any less mirthful.'

Lerant gave a chuckle. He'd always held a sizeable amount of respect for Dom, the one man in the Kings Own who never questioned the right of a traitor's kin to bear Lord Raoul's standard. He took another swig of ale. "So Kel's still herding her peasants around?"

"She was when we left, but I've heard tell that everyone should be back within the month. The war's good and done; all that's left is to clean up the mess they made."

_"Though others swore  
to protect each maid – and whore! –   
only one man adores  
every lady."_

Dom sighed, listening to the words of the song. "See, this is where the whole "chivalry" thing gets me," he remarked to Lerant. "All the pretty rainbow banners cover up the fact that it's really a black-and-white world. Either you get protected, or you don't. Why'd this man want to go protect the whores? Just because they were born without male parts? Doesn't seem right."

Lerant shifted his chair closer to Dom, trying to hear over the din of drunken song. "But that's the point of all those years of training -- they learn who's the black and who's the white."

"How 'bout the grey? I mean, look at yourself." Dom shrugged.

Leant didn't have to ask for an explanation. His blood made him as black as black gets -- his aunt had tried to kill the royal family, steal the throne, and destroy the realm in the process. Yet Lerant himself had never done anything to deserve the scorn he received on a daily basis. _Aside from being born, _he thought bitterly. Aloud, he merely said, "True enough." He seized his tankard and took a long swallow.

Dom shrugged. "The Own is good enough for folks like me 'n' you. Knightood... m'lord and Kel suit it well enough. They've got that stubborn do-good gene. But some of us have a bit more sense in our heads."

Lerant had to smile.

_"But then one night,  
a lady fair and bright  
stole the heart of that knight.  
What a lady!"_

Dom swirled the ale around in his tankard. "I don't think I'm up for much more of this tonight. Eight more nights of midwinter for me to drink my fill, right?"

Lerant sighed. "Eight more bloody nights of good cheer and Midwinter's luck." He turned his level brown eyes down to his tankard -- he did not want to see the glimmer of sympathy in Dom's bright blue ones.

He felt a nudge on his shoulder -- Wolset was having some trouble staying upright. "Lerant!" the corporal roared, sending a wave of stinking breath right by Lerant's nose. "Sing! C'mon, raise those pipes!"

"I'll pass, if it's all the same." Lerant gave Wolset a little nudge in the other direction, and the corporal's attention quickly shifted to the shapely behind of a serving girl.

After giving his tankard a dubious glance and deciding the stuff just wasn't worth drinking, Lerant turned back to Dom. "So, you're heading out?" Lerant had no desire to remain in the tavern, but he had nowhere else to go.

Dom nodded. "Going to bed, most likely. Not much else that's worth doing." He set his tankard on the table and shrugged on a fur-lined jerkin. "It's getting chilly out there."

"We were just at the Scanran border."

"Well, a man adjust back to comforts fast. I take it you're staying?"

Lerant hesitated. There was nothing for him in the tavern besides the short, curvy wench, but the idea of carrying on talk with Dom all the way back to the palace was vaguely nerve wracking. He would not want to seem a fool to the capable, well-liked sergeant. "Sure, I'm staying."

"Right then. See you around." Dom strode off out the door, sending an eddy of cold air through the room.

Lerant looked with distaste at the table of drunken, shouting men. After waiting a good minute to ensure that Dom was well on his way, Lerant too gathered his coat and left out into the cold. It was starting to snow again.

He hunched forward into the biting wind as he made his way back to the castle. Up ahead, he heard a high shout.

"Dom! It's me!"

Lerant squinted through the flurries. Another figure was running to join Dom near the end of the darkened street. He quickened his pace, trying to catch up. He could hear the murmur of joyful voices.

As he drew nearer, he made out who the figure was – none other than Keladry of Mindelan. The two stood close together, speaking quickly but to softly to hear.

The torch of a passing manservant hurrying about his business briefly cast the street in a warm yellow light, illuminating the smile that lit Kel's face and the twinkle in Dom's eye. As Lerant passed, he heard Kel shout out, "Lerant! Midwinter's luck to you!"

"And you!" he called back as he hurried towards the castle. To his surprise, he meant it.

_Midwinter's luck._ Did Midwinter have to be so miserable, really? Did being a lonely outcast mean he really couldn't enjoy himself? And was he really so friendless, after all?

Lerant looked around the empty street, noticing for the first time the warm glow radiating from each window, keeping the darkness of the cold at bay. Suddenly the street didn't seem so lonely. The snow began to fall thicker and heavier through the clear winter air.

He stopped and took a deep breath, relishing in the freshness of the crisp evening air and clearing the smoky, stifling warmth of the tavern from his lungs.

_Midwinter's luck. Maybe this year, I'll find some._

He stood there, simply breathing, until his toes began to numb. Finally, Lerant continued down the empty road towards the warmth and light of castle. There was luck there for him, somewhere. And for once, for this brief moment of chill and clarity, Lerant felt he could find it.


End file.
